Transient
by allonsysilvertongue
Summary: Effie and Haymitch are married to each other except it was not a normal marriage born out of love. She represented his salvation, a means of escape when he exposed a fatally dangerous secret. In their race to bare the truth, could they possibly fall in love as they try to save each other? [Hayffie AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the character to play with. **

Summary: Effie and Haymitch are married to each other except it was not a normal marriage born out of love. She represented his salvation, a means of escape when he exposed a fatally dangerous secret. In their race to bare the truth, could they possibly fall in love as they try to save each other? [Hayffie AU]

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**Chapter 1**

Present day

The wind howled in the distance, showing no signs of mercy on anyone unfortunate enough to be out on that particular night.

The lone figure walking down the gravel pathway pulled his cloak tighter around himself, kept his head low and braved through the biting chill of the wind. His teeth chattered and he longed for something warm; a warm bed or a hot cup of coffee because with the importance of the file he was carrying in his pocket, he needed the coffee to stay awake.

The lights in the house were out except for the lone flickering lights of a dying bulb in the kitchen. He knocked at the back door and grumbled at the secrecy surrounding the whole thing.

"Open the door, Haymitch," he muttered angrily.

Seconds turned into minutes but the urgency that drove Plutarch Heavensbee to leave his house and sought the insufferable man in the dead of night assured that he would stand by the door until that damn man opened it.

He stumbled into the threshold of the house when the door was violently yanked open and an irritated Haymitch glared at him.

XxX

"And what brings you all the way here in such terrible weather, Heavensbee?" he asked.

Haymitch stared at the back of Plutarch's head as the man invited himself in and strode into the kitchen.

"How about some hot coffee first?"

He poured Plutarch a cup of tepid coffee from a pot, all that was left from a batch that he had made earlier. Haymitch pulled out a bottle of vodka, removed the stopper with his teeth, and plopped down on the kitchen island.

Plutarch cupped the coffee mug in both his hands, warming them up and moved towards the kitchen window. Haymitch watched him sleepily. He opened them up and the cold wind roared through the kitchen causing him to frown at the sudden chill.

"They're coming for you," Plutarch whispered once he had settled down opposite Haymitch.

Haymitch strained to hear what Plutarch had just told him over the sound of the wind. He blinked and slowly brought the bottle to his lips. His eye twitched and his heart rate had begun to pick up pace. Haymitch sat perfectly still and his mouth barely moved when he asked, "Who?"

"Snow," Plutarch informed.

His pupils dilated and the remnants of sleep vanished from his face. Haymitch stood up hastily, the chair scraping loudly against the floor in the quiet of the night and peered out of his window.

"Did anyone follow you?" he questioned Plutarch.

"No." Plutarch tried to assure him but Haymitch pinned him with a glare. "No. I made sure of it."

"Haymitch?" a soft female voice floated into the kitchen. Both men turned towards the entrance and saw Effie standing by the doorway looking confused. She had on a thin knee length nightgown, and in the cold, her nipples peaked through the fabric. Haymitch cleared his throat and Plutarch tore his gaze away, his cheeks flushed at getting caught staring.

"What are you doing here, Plutarch?" Effie asked.

Haymitch crossed the room in three strides and pulled Effie out of the kitchen by her hand, out of Plutarch's hearing range.

"What's going on? It's three in the morning," she pointed out.

With a hand resting on her waist, he used the other to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Nothing's going on…"

Effie tilted her head and gave Haymitch a look. He sighed. It unnerved him at times to see how well she knew him.

"Then why is he here?" she nodded towards the kitchen where Plutarch was pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"Something… Something's going on. I don't know what it is yet."

"Is it Snow?" she whispered fearfully. "What do you know so far?" Effie pressed further.

"Nothing much, Effs. Go back to bed, alright? I'll be up soon. Just go back to sleep and I'll tell you when I find out more."

He stooped down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. Haymitch gently steered her towards the direction of their bedroom.

"Go to bed," he repeated. "Oh, sweetheart? Don't be nosy and try to eavesdrop."

She turned slightly to look back at him. "Occupational hazard," she winked. "It comes with the job, I can't help being nosy. And I wouldn't have met you if I wasn't."

XxX

"He's afraid of you," Plutarch told him once Haymitch returned to the kitchen. "You're close to getting the story out to the public and Snow can't have that."

"So? What is he going to do? Kill me? Kill my wife? If he touches Effie, Plutarch, I'll kill him myself," he hissed.

Plutarch shook his head.

"He isn't going to kill you. He's trying to get you for the murder of Seneca - send you away to prison. Killing the both of you would raise too many questions."

He frowned. If he wasn't married to Effie, sending him away to prison would be a plausible course of action that Snow would have taken. But it didn't make sense now.

"And I would keep my mouth shut in prison? What makes he think I wouldn't rat him out?"

Plutarch clasped his hands together and looked Haymitch in the eye. "Because when you're in prison, Effie would be out here. Alone. You're not going to say anything to anyone in prison because he's got Effie, Haymitch. You see it now, don't you? Killing you would be too easy."

"It's a game to him," Haymitch breathed out.

"You fucked with him, Mitch and he's coming back for everything."

His hand reached out for the opened bottle of vodka he had opened earlier and gulped down large amounts of the liquid. It burned his throat and his eyes watered but it felt good and he relished the feeling.

"I shouldn't have married her," he said, his breath already reeking strongly of alcohol.

"It was the only way at that time. You knew that and she knew that. You didn't force her, she made the choice herself."

"Because she wanted the fame that came with a story as explosive as the one I had," Haymitch spat. "She would have done anything. We…We gambled with her life."

"It's too late now. How close is she to completing the story?"

"She's close. We just need some time – "

"I could buy you time. Distract him with a business proposal or…I'll think of something. But don't take too long. Get the story out; destroy him before he destroys you and here..," Plutarch slid a file over to Haymitch. "You might find it useful."

Haymitch inclined his head. And long after Plutarch bade him farewell, the only words echoing in Haymitch's head was that one sentence Plutarch had told him months ago, _"There is only one way to do this – you have to marry her."_

XxX

Before

Haymitch sat at the bar, his fingers tapping impatiently against the whiskey glass. He looked up and for the umpteenth time that night and gave the bar a cursory sweep, looking out for the man he was waiting for.

A busty girl sidled up to him and began chatting him up. Haymitch turned sideways and her breasts were right in his face. He cleared his throat and leaned back slightly for a better view just as his hands came to rest on her waist, holding her in place.

_I might as well kill time, _he thought to himself. He bought the girl a drink and if his companion wasn't going to show up, it wouldn't be such a big deal. Haymitch had a feeling that he was about to get lucky that night.

That dream shattered, of course, when a large bulky man appeared, announcing his presence loudly.

"Haymitch, my man! Look at you! Leave you alone long enough and you've got ladies at your feet," he clapped Haymitch on his shoulder and grinned lecherously at the girl who had thrown him a dirty look.

She turned on her heels and went back to the dance floor. Haymitch groaned.

"You were late, Chaff. What did you expect me to do?"

Chaff grinned and plopped down next to him, ordering a drink as he did so. Haymitch watched him carefully. Something was noticeably wrong with Chaff but each time Haymitch asked, he would say the same thing, - 'You know, stress at work'.

On a couple of occasions at work, when the day was slow, Haymitch would go one floor up to where Chaff's office was situated and saw for himself how on edge the once boisterous man was. Even while Chaff was sitting by his desk, his muscles seemed tensed, his jaw clenched and he looked out the glass window of his office worriedly each time someone passed by.

When Haymitch pressed the issue, this time with genuine concern over Chaff's well-being, Chaff had waved his uneasiness aside.

"It's just the acquisition, you know. It's a lot of pressure in the department with the books and the accounts."

Haymitch nodded. Of course it had to be the acquisition – Snow's company, the company they were both working in was in the process of taking over Coin's company, ensuring that Snow would have monopoly over the communications business.

Chaff's hands were shaking as he brought the glass of whiskey to his lips. He seemed pale and his eyes darted around the bar.

"You okay?" Haymitch asked, swirling the ice in his own glass.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"You look like shit, Chaff. You wanna get out of here? Go home, sleep it off."

Chaff gave a bark of laughter. "You're trying to get rid of me so you can take that girl home, aren't you?"

Haymitch laughed and shook his head. "I'm serious, you look like shit."

Chaff glanced over his shoulders and discreetly took out a large thick envelope from his shoulder bag. He quickly passed it over to the surprised Haymitch who took out his keys to slide the seal open. Chaff's hand clamped down on his, hard.

"What the –" Haymitch exclaimed.

"Not now," Chaff hissed. "Put it away."

"Alright, alright," Haymitch said, folding the envelope in half and tucking it into the pocket of his jacket. "What's this about?"

Chaff's voice dropped to a whisper and with the music blaring in the background, Haymitch had to lean forward and strain his ears to hear.

"Don't open it now. Not even when you get home. Keep it somewhere safe, somewhere only you know. Don't tell anyone about it. It's important that you don't, you understand? Those… The contents of the envelope are important and it's meant only for you."

Haymitch frowned. He did not like the sound of it at all. Chaff was being far too serious for his liking. Both of them had an easy going friendship. They bonded over their fondness for drinking, getting drunk, spending time at the bar where Chaff would pick up a girl and try to get Haymitch laid.

"Yeah, okay. For safekeeping, yeah? I got it," Haymitch waved his hand carelessly, refusing to take things seriously. Chaff was spoiling his mood already.

"Don't open it until the time is right."

He rolled his eyes and slammed his drink down. "What the hell, Chaff? You come in here acting all mysterious; give me something that I have no damn clue about, telling me what to do and what not to do. Maybe I'll open the damn envelope right now."

"Don't, Haymitch. You'll know when it's time to open it and when you do, I hope you'll do the right thing."

Chaff left the bar, leaving Haymitch alone to finish his drink. That was the last time he saw Chaff alive.

The next time he saw Chaff, he was a corpse. The police had barricaded Chaff's apartment when he arrived and Haymitch couldn't get past the guards. But he was persistent enough that he managed to see Chaff lying on the floor in a pool of blood with one of his hands cut off at the elbow.

Haymitch covered his mouth and fled the scene, away from the crowd. He vomited on the walkway and dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief that someone had provided him with.

"Was that someone you know?" a woman asked.

Haymitch straightened up and glanced at the woman standing beside him.

"He is… was my friend. Is this yours?" he held out the handkerchief.

The woman looked at the handkerchief in distaste before offering him a smile. "It's alright, you can have it. I'm Effie, by the way."

Haymitch didn't like her and didn't care for her name. Maybe it was because of the notepad in her hand, the pen between her fingers and the small camera hanging around her neck.

"You see something you like, sweetheart? Something worth reporting?" he sneered.

She looked rather taken aback at the malice in his voice.

"You're looking for a family member? A friend of his perhaps? Someone you could interview to get your story?" he pressed on.

She frowned and opened her mouth to say something but Haymitch promptly cut her off.

"There's no family and as far as I know, I'm his only friend. I'm not giving you anything." He realised it felt good to take the pain he was feeling inside and turn it out on someone. He knew it was unfair to take it out on a woman he had only met minutes ago but he wasn't thinking straight.

"I wasn't going to ask for it," she replied hotly. Then her eyes softened, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Three days later, Haymitch saw the envelope Chaff had given him hidden under a few layers of his clothes. He took it out and stared at it for a long time.

_You'll know when it's time to open it._

Chaff's death had been too sudden, too violent and maybe, just maybe the envelope held the answers for his murder.

Steeling himself, Haymitch tore the envelope open and his world stopped spinning on its axis.

* * *

**There isn't much AU in the fandom and I thought I'll try since I've been toying with this plot for a couple of month. This is a pilot chapter and if anyone's interested in knowing more, I'll complete writing it and I'll post them up. **

**Tell me what you think by reviewing! Thanks for reading :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Since there are people who are interested, I went on to continue writing so, here you go :) Thank you the reviews and the alerts!

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Chapter 2

Present day

With the vodka dangling in his hand and the file clutched in the other, Haymitch staggered up the stairs lost in thought. He stood briefly in front of the slightly ajar bedroom door before pushing it open with his shoulder and sat at the edge of the bed.

"You've been eavesdropping," he stated.

"Hmmm, I haven't," Effie turned to her sides and tucked her hands under her chin, watching him.

He chuckled knowing she probably had at least tried to. Haymitch felt Effie shifting closer. The bed side lamp came on as she switched it, her arms snaked around his waist as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Is that from Plutarch?"

"Yeah." His hand grazed the cover of the file, contemplating if he should explore its contents. In the end, he threw it onto the night stand, resolving to wait till morning.

"You want to tell me what Plutarch wanted or do you need a distraction first?"

Effie pressed a kiss to his neck; her small, soft hands slowly massaging his shoulders. Haymitch felt his tense muscles loosening up under her ministrations, the stress slowly leaving him for a moment. Turning his head to the sides, he captured her lips, tangling his hand in her hair. He supposed that was the benefit about being married, having a woman in bed. Even if the circumstances of their marriage were less than ideal, he wasn't one to complain when Effie was passionately kissing him back.

Effie pulled him forward so that he was lying on top of her and when the need for air overwhelmed him, Haymitch broke the kiss. Effie smiled, her hands still wound around his neck. She pulled him down for another kiss but he resisted.

"He's after me," he whispered, rolling off her and onto his side of the bed, bracing himself for her inevitable reaction.

It never came. He heard her breath hitch in her throat. Turning around, he saw Effie propping herself on her elbows as she caught the strain on his features. She tried her best to soothe him even though he knew she was afraid herself.

"He's been after you for a while," she stroked his stubbled cheek.

"He's never tried to frame me for murder before, Effs."

A loud gasp of surprise escaped her lips and the hand that was covering his eyes was pulled down as Effie's worried face swam before him.

"How would he know that? You said the alley was dark, you said no one saw!" She exclaimed.

"I don't know, Effie!" he replied heatedly, pushing himself off the bed and leaned against the headrest.

"Oh God, Haymitch! How can you be so calm!?" She raged. Effie looked terribly distressed as she clutched her hair.

"I'm not," he spoke quietly.

Shooting him a troubled look, Effie reached out across him and plucked the file he had thrown earlier on the nightstand.

"He gave this to you?" Effie asked, referring to Plutarch.

Haymitch nodded and watched as she opened it. He knew the file contained nothing but bad news and he was not disappointed when Effie's distressed face gave way to one of extreme panic.

He hissed when Effie's hand jerked to grip his arms, her nails digging painfully into his skin.

"Haymitch," she whispered. He leaned forward and peered over her shoulders. "Haymitch, he's got us on tape. The house's bugged!"

His eyes narrowed. Snatching the file out of Effie's grasp, his eyes scanned the bound papers in his hands. Plutarch had given him transcripts of conversations that had been happening in the house for the past few months. A page which had been tabbed immediately captured his attention.

Once he saw what was on that page, he swallowed and his breathing slowed. His ear began to buzz as he read the contents of it. It was his entire confession to Effie the night Seneca Crane died and now Snow had full knowledge of it.

"There's a note from Plutarch," Effie told him and handed him a torn out yellow paper.

_This just came to my attention. Search your house, find the location but don't destroy it – too suspicious. Burn._

He scrambled out of bed and thundered down the steps to the kitchen. Haymitch turned on the stove and held out Plutarch's note over the fire, watching it burn slowly in his hand. He heard Effie's hurried footsteps entering the kitchen and with a finger pressed to his lips asking her to be quiet, he motioned for her to come closer.

Haymitch was about to set the entire folder on fire before Effie stilled his hand. "Don't destroy this. We might find a use for it. Give it to me and I'll keep it somewhere safe."

He hesitated before finally relinquishing the file to Effie. She smiled sadly knowing that Haymitch still did not fully trust her, and was only giving her the file because of this marriage they had agreed to enter into.

Effie went back upstairs to keep the file somewhere temporary. He knew that she would move it to keep it elsewhere, someplace safe - a place not even Haymitch knew. By the time she came back down to join him, he had already trashed the living room looking for the bugs, with the radio on.

"Plutarch opened the window when he was here, I thought it was odd. But this explains it," he spoke quietly, slightly out of breath as he brought down the heavy painting above the fireplace.

"He risked a lot bringing that file to you," she pointed out. "Hasn't he been here before? Wouldn't the bug have picked him out, too?"

"No, according to the transcript it was planted a few months back and he seldom comes by so the bug wouldn't have picked him out - close call. Besides, we usually meet outside and never here, if I could avoid it.

They shifted the sideboard together and ran their hands on every nook and cranny.

"Found it," Effie mouthed, holding out a tiny round metallic object in the palm of her hand for Haymitch to inspect. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger, slipping it into his pocket for him to deal with it later.

The past year had made Haymitch paranoid enough that he insisted they search their entire house for any more of it. Haymitch found two more and while Effie set out to right the mess that they made, Haymitch went to replant those bugs where he found them, ensuring that Snow will never suspect that they were on to him.

The music from the radio he switched on earlier was still playing and when he returned to the living room, he saw Effie sweeping the shards from a broken lamp that Haymitch had swept off the table. He pulled her close, whispering the locations of the bugs – living room, their bedroom and kitchen – and told her that they will not discuss anything related to Snow in those specific areas.

"Can we talk about this, Haymitch?" Effie asked as she led him out by the hand to the front porch.

"No," he answered brusquely and sank of the top step, his arm resting on his knee.

"Haymitch," she started, crossing her arms as she stood over Haymitch. "You are about to be framed for murder. This is serious, we need a –"

"Plan? The plan remains; you get the story out."

Effie sighed and sat beside him, her hand came to rest on his thigh. "I have a better plan. You run."

A harsh laugh escaped him and when he turned towards Effie, he saw the hurt flashing through her eyes at the way he had cruelly dismissed her idea.

"Run?"

"Yes, run. Hide somewhere until I've published the story and exposed him, and then… Then you can come back when it's safe."

He shook his head. "No. I'm not a coward."

"It's not about cowardice, Haymitch, it's about your life and your freedom. It's hanging on the balance here, can't you see it?

Haymitch gave an audible sigh before turning to face Effie. He had to try and make her understand.

"Eff, this is a good thing. Think about it, will you? He'll be distracted trying to pin me with Crane's death that he hopefully won't notice much what you're doing. Plutarch's trying to distract him too, buy us more time."

She stared at him as he stared back, both refusing to back down. Finally, Effie blinked and stood up, her face a mask of irritation.

"Fine. You're the one risking everything, and if you want to go to prison so much, what else can I say?" she snapped, walking away from him.

Haymitch bristled. The stress of everything finally gave way to anger.

"What do you care, Trinket? It's my life on the line here. You're the one who will eventually get all the fame and glory, the one who will finally get the recognition she so deserves," he shouted as he followed her inside the house. "Isn't this what you wanted? What led you here in the first place?"

She whirled around, and jabbed her index finger on his chest. He could see that she was as furious as he was. She was breathing heavily, her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed heatedly.

"Don't you dare…" she hissed but never completed her sentence as she realised that she was within the range of the listening device.

She climbed up the stairs and stopped midway, taking a deep breath to gather herself. When she spoke next it was with an eerily calm voice, her words were like a knife twisting in Haymitch's guts. "You're right, of course. Since you clearly don't care about your well-being, why should I? After all, I have a job to do and the faster I get the story out on every news stand in this city, the faster we can go back to our lives, right? To how we were before."

His eyes followed her as she walked away from him, entered the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

XxX

Haymitch was in the study pouring over bank records that Plutarch had managed to procure for him when he heard the front door slam loudly. Curious, he made his way down and saw Effie leaning against the door, her hand clutching her chest.

He crossed the room and grabbed her by both arms. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"There's…," she gulped but still had the sense of mind to turn on the television at full blast. "There's a man outside. He's been following me from the office all the way here. I thought I lost him! I did what you taught me, I took multiple trains, walk home by a different route but I couldn't shake him off my trail."

"It doesn't matter. Snow's planted the bug, he knows where we live."

Haymitch peered through the gap in the curtain and saw a man dressed in a black turtleneck and an overcoat leaning against the tree, watching the house.

Effie was shaking so badly that Haymitch had to guide her to the arm chair. He handed her his bottle of whiskey but she shook her head.

"Tea," she whispered.

There was some tea left over from breakfast and he was sure it wasn't what Effie wanted but he couldn't exactly be bothered to make a fresh pot of tea with her so clearly in distress. So he did the next best thing; he poured the tea, added a couple of ice cubes and squeezed some lemon he found in the fridge.

"Here," he handed it to her.

Effie must have been too distraught to even notice what she was actually drinking because she made no complaint whatsoever.

_Should have just given her the whiskey if I had known._

With trembling hands, she took a plastic folder containing a piece of paper that she had kept in her bag and handed it to Haymitch.

"Who gave this to you?" he demanded.

"I don't know. I came back from lunch and it was in my desk drawer at the office. I don't know how it got there, Haymitch," she told him hysterically.

She was still pale and shaking when Haymitch finally stopped pacing and perched on the arm of the chair she was sitting on. His arm circled her shoulder and pulled her close, absent-mindedly running his hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. He felt Effie stiffen initially at the contact before the need for comfort overwhelmed her and she buried her face in his chest. His eyes were fixed on the paper Effie had preserved in the plastic sheet.

_Two choices – the story or your life. _

It was written in blood.

XxX

Before

Haymitch slammed the file shut, throwing it on the bed as though it burnt his palm. He ran his hand over his face, pacing the room wildly.

Chaff had incriminating evidence against Coriolanus Snow, the chief executive officer of Panem Corporation who also happened to be Chaff's and Haymitch's employer. The evidence was now in Haymitch's possession. For a long time, all he could do was stare at the file on his bed with his hand covering his mouth, the other propped on his hip.

The longer he stood there, the more he began to believe that the knowledge was the reason Chaff was murdered. The image of Chaff's bloodied body assaulted him, forcing Haymitch to sink on the floor and lean against the bed. _His arm had been cut off,_ Haymitch recalled, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes. _Was it to send some kind of message?_

The contents of the file never once left the confines of his mind. Even as he walked down the aisles of the supermarket, gathering as much alcohol in his arm as he could, he thought about Snow. Haymitch had never been comfortable around the man and it went beyond the fact that he was Haymitch's employer. There was just something about him that put Haymitch on edge and made his blood boil. It didn't help that Snow had personally warned Haymitch in no uncertain terms that he would not hesitate to fire his employees if they weren't performing up to his satisfaction.

He had preached about how he had built the company up from scratch through his blood and sweat, and that the company meant everything to him. He told Haymitch that Panem Corporation had been successful for many years, and he had no desire for its reputation to be tarnished by someone who arrived to work mostly drunk.

It was a dark time in Haymitch's life and he was a complete wreck at that point. He had just lost the people who mattered in a car accident and the news was a bitter pill to swallow. He blamed himself, mostly. His brother had driven their old family car because his mother had missed Haymitch who had not come home for months due to work commitments. Haymitch was too busy and couldn't find the time to be making a two hour trip to his family home. So instead, his brother had offered to drive to the city for a weekend visit and that was how they met with the tragedy.

"I understand that you've just lost your family, Mr. Abernathy, but life goes on. I suggest you quickly get over it, clean up your act and start performing. You need to be up to speed in this fast-paced working environment. We cannot afford to lose out in business. And alcohol will not help. If you do not sober up, Mr. Abernathy, I will not hesitate to put you on an indefinite leave."

He loathed Snow and the way he callously ordered him to get over their deaths. He tried to cut down on his alcohol but failed miserably, so Haymitch began to rely on aspirin tablets each day to alleviate his hangovers before he went to work. He used to drink heavily during lunch but after the warning, Haymitch just chose to wander around and kill time. The city was a brutal place to live in and without a job, he would be out on the streets and it was not something Chaff would allow, so each morning, Chaff would be at his house making sure that Haymitch arrived at work.

_Chaff, _he choked as he sat in his car at the parking lot, staring blankly out of the window. Chaff had helped him a lot and his death had been too sudden. They didn't exactly part on good terms and it tore Haymitch apart more than he would allow himself to admit.

_You'll know when it's time to open it and when you do, I hope you'll do the right thing._

Those were Chaff's last words to Haymitch and as he drove home, he mulled them over and over in his head. _Do the right thing._ He wasn't sure what exactly Chaff meant by it. He had been given the file for a reason and it was _meant _only for him. Chaff wanted Haymitch to have the information because somehow he knew that his days were numbered.

_What the fuck does he want me to do with it?_ he thought furiously.

XxX

Haymitch had called in to office early that morning claiming he needed some time away for himself after Chaff's death. He lay in bed for hours before finally taking his red Impala out and drove to the police station in town.

"Mr. Abernathy, how can I help you?" Darius asked. Haymitch knew Darius from a few years back but somehow they could never get along well. They shared a few drinks and that was as far a friendship as they would strike.

"The investigation for Chaff's…uhh death. Any news?"

"Nothing yet. We're still looking," the officer answered and gestured for Haymitch to take a seat. He had already taken a statement from Haymitch on the day itself.

Haymitch sat perched on the edge of his seat, elbows resting on the rough wooden table littered with files of open cases.

"I might have something that could help," Haymitch told him. "Some information."

Darius raised both eyebrows in surprise, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I think it has something to do with Snow. Chaff knew something and I think that's what got him killed," he said.

A sneer began to form on the officer's face and Haymitch frowned slightly, clearly not understanding what Darius could find so amusing.

"You're accusing your employer of murder?" he chuckled.

"No," Haymitch said firmly. "No, I'm not. I – I don't know, alright? Maybe he didn't do it himself; maybe…All I know is that it has something to do with him. I might have something that could be used as proof."

"Go home, Haymitch. You're drunk," he said condescendingly. Then his tone changed, glancing around surreptitiously, Darius leaned forward and spoke quietly to him. "Whatever it is you're thinking, keep it to yourself. Whatever it is you think you know or information you have, don't speak about it to anyone."

Something was not right. Haymitch could feel it in his bones and he pinned Darius with a stare.

"Or what?" he hissed.

"Or I would have to arrest you. Or, worse, you'll end up like your friend," Darius said smugly, leaning back against his chair as he folded his hand on top of each other on the table.

"Arrest me?! Me? All I'm doing is trying to assist you in your investigation, you fool. Why would you – Oh." Haymitch said as the realisation sank in.

Darius was not an exemplary officer of the law by nature. There was talk about the brothels he frequented, although Haymitch personally thought that it was the man's private business. There were ex-wives that had filed for divorce claiming a history of violent behaviour which was believable since Haymitch himself had seen how Darius had beaten up a suspect with his baton after fleeing a crime scene one night. He wondered how someone like him could stay on in the task force and he knew it now; Darius was on Snow's payroll and would therefore do anything for him.

Haymitch would not find any semblance of assistance from the police although Darius telling Haymitch to keep mum about what he knew was puzzling.

His head was about to explode with all that was going on and he left the police station with more problems piled on his shoulders.

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Thanks for reading! And reviews are as always appreciated. You can tell me your opinion of what you think is going on, too!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing the characters.**

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Present Day

"Okay, Effie, you need to calm down, alright? Come on, sweetheart, deep breaths," he told her as he knelt on the floor in front of Effie so that they were on the same eye level.

Effie had begun to hyperventilate and Haymitch was trying to maintain his own composure.

"You said I'll be safe!" she gasped between breaths.

"You are," he told her. "This is nothing, alright? It's just a scare tactic."

"Well then it's working!" she hissed, fanning herself with her hands.

Haymitch stood on his feet and threw his hands up in frustration. "Effie! Do you really think they would kill you? They won't, it's just blackmail."

"Yes, Haymitch, as a matter of fact, I think they will. _He _isn't above killing anyone to keep his secrets or have you forgotten about your friend Chaff?" Her voice had gone an octave higher, shrill and piercing to his ears.

Haymitch glared at her but said nothing otherwise. He was well aware of the fact that they would not hesitate to kill anyone, Effie included and he had lied to keep her calm.

Effie drained the remains of her tea, placing it on the table with a soft clink. Haymitch was sitting on the armchair facing her, turning the paper over and over in his hands as though it might provide some sort of clue.

He looked up when he heard her clothes rustling as she moved towards the window, peering cautiously between the curtain gaps.

"Come away from the window, Eff," he told her, pulling the paper out of the plastic folder.

"Why? I'm just checking if he's still there," she answered back.

"Make an easy shot for a sniper," he muttered under his breath.

"HAYMITCH!"

"I'm just saying. It's a probability, that's all."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Haymitch chuckled. He couldn't help pulling her leg. He found out soon after their marriage that it was easy to get a rise out of Effie.

"You watch too much of those kinds of movies," she told him, shaking her head. Effie moved away from the window and began pacing the room. She seemed lost as if she didn't quite know what to do with herself.

"But that's exactly what my life is turning into. Yours too," he couldn't help but add.

"Which is partly your fault to begin with."

"Hey, you agreed to marry me. It's not like I held a gun to your head and made you sign the papers."

Effie uncrossed her arms and snatched the plastic folder from his hands. She moved swiftly to the kitchen and Haymitch followed curiously. She threw them in the trash before turning to face him with a frown etched on her face.

"And I don't want to be in this marriage longer than necessary. Did you manage to do anything at all while I was at work?"

Effie Trinket was feisty. Haymitch had to give her that. That attitude was what made her agree to Plutarch's crazy plan in the first place. Other women would have balked at the very idea but not her.

XxX

Haymitch led the way up to their study and heard her sigh at the mess of papers strewn all over the table.

She was just about to pick a piece of paper when Haymitch stopped her. "Don't touch my stuffs. Don't organise it. Don't put into piles. Don't do anything to it."

"Fine. Then explain what you've found out because I'm not going to waste my time working through your mess."

He shuffled the papers around and when he found the one he was looking for, he slapped it down on the table and beckoned for Effie to come closer.

"Okay, so Chaff had a list of banks right? Plutarch and I managed to get bank records of anything that was even remotely related to Snow or his company. And look at these," he pulled a stack of papers bound in a binder ring. "These are the company accounts and these are the bank records."

Her brows knitted together as she studied the small prints of numbers running through the pages.

"So what, Haymitch? We've already know he's been transferring money from the company's funds to different banks."

Effie was standing in front of him and when he stretched to show her the important points that he had highlighted in yellow, he could smell her shampoo. It made him giddy and it made him want to bury his face in her hair; a fact that Effie was not aware of and he wanted to keep it that way. They were not affectionate, which was normal due to the nature of their marriage and any intimacy was usually limited to their bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or the kitchen. There were many other places in their house where they had sex but that was all to it; just sex.

It wasn't something that could be helped.

_A man and a woman in a house with the pressure that was getting to them, they're bound to seek some sort of release and sex is…convenient, _he justified silently to himself.

Effie nudged him with her elbow when he took too long to answer. He blinked and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"No, Effie. Look carefully. These are from banks that Chaff did not list out. There are many more banks than the three that Chaff knew," he jabbed the paper in front of him triumphantly, the ones he had circled furiously in red.

Her mouth opened in silent astonishment as her eyes scrutinised the information Haymitch laid out before her.

"It's so much bigger than we thought. He's transferring money all over the country," she said breathlessly, giddy with the prospect of what the impending revelations would do to her career. "You found all these in one afternoon? While I was at the office?"

"Yeah, well…I've got a little bit of time," he said nonchalantly, although a warm tingling sensation had begun to spread inside him at the awe in Effie's voice.

He sunk on the sofa, his legs over the arm of the chair and watched as Effie settled down on the chair he sat on hours earlier. She fired up her trusted laptop and began to type in the information Haymitch had relayed to her. Her fingers flew over the keyboard frantically as she worked on her article and Haymitch watched, entranced.

He was aware that at that moment, the world had melted leaving only Effie and her work. She was focused and dedicated, and she was his wife. He felt a sense of pride at the thought.

Haymitch blinked. _Where did that come from?_

She wasn't his, not really. It was just an arrangement and he certainly didn't want her. He was sure of it. Haymitch questioned himself on countless nights when he couldn't sleep what they had gotten themselves into and what he was doing with Effie. Sometimes he wondered if Effie would find it easy to walk away from him when all of the madness ended.

_Could you?_ he asked himself.

Haymitch frowned to himself. Of course he could easily turn his back on this woman. He didn't owe her anything. He would make sure she got out of the ordeal alive and then, well, he'd return to what he knew. A life of solitude.

His eyes flickered up as he studied her. A year ago, if someone told him he would be married, he would have punched the bugger.

"Sweetheart, you better guard that precious laptop of yours with your life," he spoke out, breaking the silence that had settled in.

"I know, Haymitch," she replied patiently, never taking her eyes off the screen.

XxX

"You should just work from home," he told her over breakfast.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We've had this conversation already."

"We wouldn't be having this conversation again if you're not stubborn," he said as he poured maple syrup over his pancakes.

"You said you'd send me to my office, make sure I'm okay and I agreed to it. You said so yourself, it's just blackmail. I won't be cowed by a note written in blood, dear husband."

A waiter passed by to ask if they needed to refill their coffee and Effie politely shook her head. Haymitch waited until the waiter was out of their hearing range before he muttered a reply to Effie's comment.

"That's not what it looks like yesterday. _They're going to kill me, Haymitch. I'm going to die. You're gonna get me killed._"

Effie looked indignant at his terrible impersonation of her. She took his coffee and finished what little was left of it in one gulp.

"Hey!"

"Come on, I'm going to be late," she urged him as she slid out of the booth towards where he parked his car.

Her office was less than a five minutes' drive away from the diner Effie had insisted they had their breakfast at. He spent the short journey on constant look-out, his eyes roaming the streets looking for the same man he saw watching their house the day before but found only relatively normal, plain looking citizens.

He stepped out of the car, and made to follow Effie.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her palm flat on his chest as she stopped him.

"Sending you to your office?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you actually care about me," she winked. Haymitch look appalled at the very idea. "I'm fine, Haymitch! You don't have to send me all the way up. Thanks for sending me to my building. I'll call, if anything!"

He didn't have the time to reply since Effie had already disappeared behind the polished double doors of her office building. Haymitch shrugged and turned to walk back to his car when two men flanked him on his sides, the muzzle of a gun suppressor that was partially hidden beneath their jacket digging painfully into his ribcage.

"Come with us. If you shout, we'll let a bullet fly. Won't kill you, but it will hurt like a bitch," one of them muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Before

Haymitch sat in his car in a daze, his fingers strumming against the steering wheel. The file was on the passenger seat beside him lying there innocently as though its contents had not just killed a man a few days ago.

He had no idea what to do or what he should even be doing. For the millionth time that day, he cursed Chaff for entrusting him with such information without bothering to leave any sort of instructions on what to do with it.

Rummaging under the driver's seat, he pulled out a bottle wrapped in brown paper. He capped the bottle open and took one gulp of the alcohol. If he could have his way, he would have taken more than just a mouthful of the drink but he wasn't about to risk being drunk while driving. Not when he knew that Darius was working for Snow.

Two days passed and still, Haymitch did nothing about the file. He stashed it in the glove compartment of his car, promising himself that he would think of a way later. He wasn't going to turn a blind eye to it but at that moment, he was truly fresh out of ideas on what he could do with it.

He did entertain the thought of confronting Snow about it but it was just a fleeting idea; one that he didn't quite take seriously. Haymitch climbed the stairs up to his flat two at a time, clutching a paper bag of take-away food.

It was the first day back at work since Chaff's death and it had not been easy for him. All he wanted was to have his dinner and pass out on his couch. He had waited for Chaff by the elevator during lunch only to remember that Chaff wasn't going to show. Haymitch lost his appetite and spent his lunch hour aimlessly cruising the streets in his car. When he came back from lunch, Haymitch saw Snow walking out of the office building with Seneca Crane. He clenched his fist in a tight grip to control the sudden surge of anger he felt. Seneca had given Haymitch an odd look but hurried after his employer without a word to him.

When he finally reached his floor, Haymitch was slightly out of breath. He walked briskly along the corridor to his flat, nodding politely at a frazzled old woman. She gave Haymitch a frightened look as she hurried into her own flat, slamming the door in his face. He was puzzled. Mrs. Fitzgerald had always been nice to him, sending him pots of food when her children visited her for dinner on Sundays.

As he neared his own flat, Haymitch slowed down. He cautiously approached his door which was hanging on its hinges. He leaned flat against the wall just outside his apartment, breathing deeply through his nostrils. Haymitch was panicking. He clenched his jaw and steeled himself. Counting to ten, peeked inside his flat praying that he wouldn't be attacked.

No one was present but whoever had been there had completely trashed his apartment. The intruder was looking for something and they seemed to have gone through every nook and cranny, upended his furniture and even tore out the cushions of his old sofa. His bedroom was in the same state. The mattress had been pulled from the bed frame; pieces of fluffy white cotton littered his floor as his pillows were slashed open with a knife.

He was angry. He was seething mad but there was no one to take his anger out on. He didn't know who to unleash the red hot fury building inside his belly. Whoever broke into his house had frightened old Mrs. Fitzgerald and somehow, despite the anger quickly clouding his mind, he knew, he just knew what they were looking for. And with that came the quick realisation that there was someone he could blame it on.

_Snow. _

And Chaff. A part of him blamed Chaff. His life was quickly taking a turn for the worse ever since Chaff gave him that file. He had no idea what Chaff saw in him, why Chaff thought Haymitch could actually do an ounce of good with the knowledge that Snow was a corrupt businessman.

_And a son of a bitch, let's not forget,_ he thought furiously to himself.

XxX

The night passed by torturously slow for him. While he had managed to calm himself enough to actually convince himself to go to bed, the anger was still simmering in his blood. He became anxious, too. Haymitch thought of the possibilities of the intruders returning and realistically, to his stressed mind, the chances were very high. He slipped out of bed and into the kitchen. When he came back, he was clutching a knife in his hands. That night he drifted in and out of sleep with a steel knife under his pillow.

It was going to be another normal, mundane day in the office. That was what he kept telling himself but that resolve shattered when he walked into his department office and saw Snow. In all his years working at Panem Corporation, Haymitch could count on his fingers the number of times Snow actually went down to the department floors himself. He usually had someone to do the job for him while he sat in his big polished office, doing corrupt business.

Snow saw him coming in and gave a sly sadistic smile in his direction. He didn't have to say anything; Haymitch knew what he was trying to convey. Snow knew what happened yesterday and Haymitch knew Snow had ordered that his flat be searched.

The anger came back, bright and blinding. He stalked after that arrogant man and when the door to the elevator closed, Haymitch pinned him against the wall. His arm was across Snow's throat, holding him in place and his face was inches away from the man who was still smiling triumphantly.

"You killed him. You killed Chaff," Haymitch hissed. The blood roared in his ears and Haymitch's muscles tensed with the sudden rush of adrenaline. He never imagined he would ever confront Snow like that but the anger was driving him on edge. Images of Chaff smiling and laughing with him at a bar, Chaff in a pool of blood on his apartment floor, and his amputated arm flashed in his mind's eyes.

The grin on Snow's face spread wider and for a crazy moment, Haymitch thought Snow's face might crack under all that smiling.

Someone pulled him on his shoulder, trying to get him away from Snow. "Abernathy, get off him or I'm calling security."

The rage propelled him to shove Crane away with his free hand. Crane stumbled at the unexpected aggression and force.

"Stay out of my way. This is between me and him," he said through gritted teeth. He turned to Snow again. "You killed my friend!"

Haymitch pressed his arm harder against Snow's throat and his old crinkly hand came up almost desperately to pry Haymitch's arm away. "You have no proof, Mr. Abernathy," Snow wheezed and coughed.

A muscle in his jaw jumped at the truth of it. He had no proof. All he had was a hunch; a gut feeling that told him whatever Chaff knew had gotten him killed. "What do you want from me?!"

"You have something that does not belong to you."

"Abernathy, I'm not telling you again. Step away from him," Crane shouted as he pressed the emergency button of the elevator furiously.

Haymitch knew Crane wouldn't attack him. Pretty little boy like him probably had never been in a fight before. Crane came from a good neighbourhood; with parents who pampered him and made sure he achieved the best the world had to offer and Haymitch was certain that Crane never had a reason to get into any physical brawl before.

"I don't think it's yours either. The way I see it, Snow, you're screwed. And _I _will be the one to make sure of it," Haymitch said, his eyes gleaming at the mere thought of exacting justice over what had happened to Chaff.

The moment the words left his mouth, Haymitch knew he made a mistake. He might have incriminating evidence but Snow had the police working for him, he was the CEO of a big company. Snow had status and connections. Haymitch had none of it and at that moment Haymitch had absolutely no idea what else Snow was capable of. It was extremely foolish to have confronted Snow and then threatened him.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that."

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**Thank you for all your reviews so far. Since someone asked, how Haymitch and Effie ended up getting married in the first place will be explained in subsequent chapters :)**

**Reviews are welcome!**


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